


Daemon trouble

by Wrathofscribbles



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, this is crack and not to be taken seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-02 01:44:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16295915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrathofscribbles/pseuds/Wrathofscribbles
Summary: In which Prompto picks up a new friend and none of the lads should approve of it.Shouldbeing the key word.





	1. Say hello...

**Author's Note:**

> **Big bold reminder that Final Fantasy XV and all of its content is property of Square Enix.** I just like to play in the sandpit they've created for the fans.
> 
> Also here is me, casually ignoring the general timeline of events in the game. Sorry not sorry.

"Prompto," Noctis says from where he's sprawled on the bed nearest the window and slowly dying from another migraine, in the voice of a man resigned to being The Sensible Friend when Ignis isn't around to take a pin to the ideas ballooning in Prompto's head before they can manifest into something... troublesome.  Prompto hums in reply around the needle stuck in his mouth, looming over his jacket like menacing the damn thing will align the patches and fix the tears.

"Prompto," he says again, levering up onto an elbow and squinting suspiciously at the discarded bundle on the other bed, bullshit radar on high alert, "your bag just  _sneezed."_

"Huh?  Oh that, yeah, that's, uh, an app I downloaded."

"An  _app."_

"Uh-huh."

"Your bag sneezed and  _moved_."

"Vibrate function.  Pretty cool, right?"  Noctis eyes the bag some more, not believing him for a  _second_ , then the bedside table, then fixes a weary-eyed glare on his friend.   _Bullshit_ indeed.

"Prompto."

"Yeah, buddy?"

"Your phone's on the table."

And he freezes like a cat caught in the canary cage, maybe only ten stitches into his work before he's glancing to the item in question -  _busted_ \- and fixing Noctis with pleading puppy eyes he has no business being able to wield.  Fucker's spent too much time around Umbra already.  "Promise me you won't bust out any weapons."

 _Oh boy._   "Did you steal a coeurl cub?"

"No."

"A chocobo chick?"

"No!  Okay that's tempting, but no."

"A  _behemoth_  pup?" What else could warrant summoning the Armiger?

 _"No._ Okay just, hang on a second, I can - explain everything, I promise just... please don't hurt her."

Noctis stares some more because he can't do fuck-all else without the room spinning and his stomach attempting revolt via his oesophagus.  Stares as Prompto unpicks his work and stabs the needle through his armband instead to keep track of it.  Stares as he slinks over to his bag with the guiltiest fucking expression  _ever_ on his face (and that's even taking into account being the mastermind behind the idea of keeping  _water balloons_ in the Armiger storage) and lays hands on his pack, and it  _squeaks._

"So I might have picked up a friend after that hunt I went on a couple weeks ago with the hunters round here and I've been working with her since so she knows to behave herself and she won't harm a fly unless I tell her to and she's really quite sweet once you get over the initial shock and she's  _tiny_ so what damage can she cause, really?"  He babbles as he fusses with the ties, as he  _hesitates_ with his trust in Noctis's word, and if that isn't enough to have him worry then the  _panic_ that's starting to show certainly is and -

And Prompto upends his pack in one smooth motion.  And out tumbles  _something_.  And he really should reach for his weapons or summon magic to his fingertips or even grab Prompto and warp out the window after a pillow.

But instead he blinks.  Wonders if his brain's finally fried in Lestallum's heat and turned to a runny egg inside his skull.  Rubs a hand over his face as though he can scrub the image from his sight and find it altered when he chances another look.

From where its butt has plonked down in the middle of the blanket, a tonberry blinks right back at him.

... He's lost his damn mind.


	2. Chapter 2

He watches Prompto play with the Tonberry.  The  _Tonberry_.  One of the stab-happy little fuckers hellbent on hacking up his legs for stew or to toast over the flames in their lanterns as some really horrific marshmallows.  He watches Prompto  _quietly_ interact with it, taking small, clawed hands in his and waving its arms around as it squeaks and squirms and just...  _wiggles_ all over as if it's  _happy_ and that... really fucks with his head, truth be told.  He's always been so busy fighting daemons, fighting for his  _life_ , that he's never once stopped to question whether they  _feel_.  Oh sure, he knows some of them are intelligent and will lay traps for them to walk right into.  He knows a couple of daemons have something akin to  _personalities_ , like the imps and their penchant for mischief and slamming doors in his face if they manage to crawl their way into buildings he's paid to chase them back out of.  He remembers other Tonberries letting out bone-chilling screams and running away as fast as their little waddling legs can carry them - he never gives chase after those.

But do daemons  _feel?_ Under the flesh and blood and bone do they experience  _emotions?_ He's never stopped to ask himself that, never stopped to check.  What  _are_ daemons?  Are they something  _before_ the Scourge takes them?  Is there a  _human_ underneath the monster or, in the case of Iron Giants,  _several_ humans?  If it's possible to strip aside the daemonic presence will they find a person huddled in the clothing favoured by Yojimbo or Ronin?

The questions are troublesome, yes, and the Tonberry looks innocent enough, yes, and Prompto sounds happier than he's been since the morning they received news of - well.  Regardless of any thoughts or  _feelings_ on the matter, he has to be the voice of reason here.

"You can't just keep a Tonberry, Prompto."

"Of course I can.  I've been managing just fine until she sneezed."

"But what about Havens?  What if your bag splits open and we're out in the sun?  You'll have to let her go, eventually."   _It, dammit.  It._

"Sunlight's not a problem!  She turns into this... smoke and curls up in the corner of my bag.  But I never thought about Havens... maybe she could stay close by?"

"Not a chance.  You know how Gladio is with daemons too close to the wards.  She'd be t -  _it_ would be toast."  This is insane.   _He's_ insane.  They're  _both_ insane.

"Maybe she could stay in the Regalia?"

"No way!"

"C'mon, man, please?  Please please please?  I'll make sure she's on her  _best_ behaviour and I'll do the dishes for a week."

"No chance.  You're asking me to harbour a killer."

"You don't know that!  Besides, if she  _is_ a killer, wouldn't she have chopped us both to pieces by now?"

"...  _I can't believe I'm agreeing to this."_

"Alright!  You hear that Tonton?  You're staying with me!"  He hugs it.  Prompto  _actually_ picks up the Tonberry - Tonton? - and squishes it close to his chest, bouncing on the spot as it kicks its legs and the tail he hadn't known Tonberries even  _had_ , squeaking away right along with him and tap-tap-tappping on his jacket with those tiny hands, kneading like a cat and those bright yellow eyes falling closed.  Happy?  Content?

_Do daemons feel?  Can they experience emotions like we can?_

"But  _you_ have to tell Ignis," he says, tossing his ace onto the table, and Prompto freezes in something like horror.

His mouth drops open.  His eyes go wide.  And he breathes out a very soft, very heartfelt  _"shit"_   as Noctis smirks at him.


End file.
